


Protégé

by royal_arts



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, ahsvsjh, also no betas we die like men, clingy duo, clingy duo angst amirite boys, exile arc, jsbsj, oh so NOW tge tags decide to work smh, sidenote i wrote this while incredibly sleepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_arts/pseuds/royal_arts
Summary: Protégé:/ˈprɒtəʒeɪ,ˈprəʊtəʒeɪ/noun: protégée; noun: protegeeA person who is guided and supported by an older and more experienced or influential person.Dream says he didn't do anything. Tubbo thinks Tommy is dead. Tommy has a cool new outfit.What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 24
Kudos: 402





	Protégé

Admittedly, this wasn't how Tommy wanted them all to find out.

With luck, it would have been his last words on his deathbed as he died a hero's death, surrounded my family.

But nope, fate wasn't so kind to him.

If she were, maybe he wouldn't be in this situation.

"I don't think I've seen this one before," Tubbo says blankly. Tommy can feel his presence looming over him, casting shadows over his new mask, chipped and stained from battle.

He's grown taller, is the first thing Tommy notices. Still shorter than him (a good thing for Tommy's ego), but definitely grown a couple more inches than when Tommy had last seen him. And he's more scarred. The burn mark on his chest, the one just visible peaking from under his collarbone, has faded over time, but the scratches and cuts on the rest of his body certainly make up for the damage.

Dream hums. "He's new," he says slowly. He puts his hand on Tommy's shoulder and stands, almost like a guard behind him.

Tommy is certainly tall, but Dream stands like a giant next to him. It's not much next to his own scrawny frame, but it's enough to make Tubbo step back a little bit.

Behind the mask, Dream smirks.

"Dream, what did you do this time?" Fundy asks. His tail flicks back and forth with apprehension, claws conveniently on display. His engagement ring gleams similarly in the low light of the room.

It's almost ironic. This same group had, not even three months ago, argued relentlessly over Tommy's exile in the very same room. Tommy had stood on that table as he waved Spirit's leather in Dream's face, grinning a Cheshire's grin. Now he sits at the head of the table, on the seat he himself had conveniently placed just outside the Holy Land. Everyone else is standing.

Dream puts up his free hand. "Nothing," he says, and Tommy almost laughs. Oh, if only that were true.

Quackity is next to speak up. He leans down, not to match Tommy's height, but to observe his new red hoodie, in all its frayed and bloodstained and torn up glory. A simple white t-shirt lies underneath.

He furrows his eyebrows and laughs. "So this is your new sidekick, huh?" He sounds incredulous. "He looks like a fuckin' twig."

Tommy wants to stamp on his foot, but Dream's hand on his shoulder sends him a billion signals that if he does, there will be consequences. "Don't underestimate him," he says calmly. He doesn't push on.

Tubbo steps forward again, and Quackity backs off. "Who are you?" he asks, innocently enough.

Tommy shakes his head. He can't see Tubbo's face, but with the way his feet shuffle, he can imagine his expression. Head tilted, eyebrows raised, perhaps not in confusion, but surprise.

Tubbo stays silent for a moment, then straightens up to face Dream. He looks less passive now, and through the stray locks of hair over his mask, he can see him eyeing him up.

He's beginning to fill in his president uniform, it seems. Good on him. His hands are firm behind his back, and Fundy and Quackity look ready to strike at any minute.

They could probably take him, alone. They're three skilled soldiers; all of them have seen the horrors of war, and all of them know how to fight. Tommy knew that much. He wouldn't have lost so many damn sparring matches if they couldn't.

"Does he not talk?" Tubbo asks, voice clear and unbreaking.

 _Finally gone through puberty_ , Tommy thinks fondly to himself. He bites back the urge to say it out loud.

"He knows when he can and can't speak," Dream says. His hand is firm on Tommy's shoulder.

Tubbo narrows his eyes– not that Tommy can see it. But he can tell, with the way his hands tense slightly and he goes quiet. "Let him talk."

Dream says nothing.

Quackity approaches again, and he flicks at Tommy's mask. "You even got the fucker a matching mask," he nearly laughs. It's not wrong. The only difference is the frown carved into the white face, instead of that blank smile on Dream's. "Who is this, your little brother that you didn't tell anyone about?

Tommy almost smiles. God, if that were true, he would have jumped into that lava ages ago.

"He's my protégé." Dream finally lets his hand fall from its grasp on Tommy, and only then does he realise how much it aches. "I'm training him."

"To do what, your bidding?"

Again, he doesn't answer.

Fundy lashes his tail out again. It almost looks like fire, from what Tommy sees. "So, what, you whitelisted some– some kid to do your dirty work?" he demands.

"He can fight his own battles."

Almost instinctively, Tommy's eyes flit over to the trident in the corner of the room, alongside Dream's sword and eveyone else's weapons.

He pulls the mask further down his face, until it covers his mouth. Won't be using it, anyway.

"That doesn't answer the question," Fundy snaps.

Dream raises both hands, another smirk forming on his face. "We're just here to negotiate some things, then we can leave."

"We?!" Tubbo repeats. "Dream, we– we're not just gonna leave this. I– god, Dream, he looks younger than I am!"

_Can never fucking escape that._

He steps forward again, and Tommy shuffles.

Tubbo pauses. "I... he, he looks like..."

Now Dream's attention is piqued. "Tubbo, it's been a month."

He shuffles again. "I know."

"You know it was his own choice."

"I know."

"The lava–"

"Yes, I know," he hisses. 

Tommy has only ever heard about it in passing, but he's certainly never heard Tubbo's reaction. He remembers when Dream left to go tell Tubbo the 'news', how he'd taken Tommy's ragged, torn shirt and replaced it with the red hoodie that matched with his own. He remembers how they'd tossed it into the lava, his brand new mask covering his blank eyes.

Most of all, he remembers how he'd returned to their little island, flashing his teeth in a fanged smile and hands shoved into his pockets. _Poor kid was devastated_.

And Tommy smirked. _Good_.

Dream shrugs, unapologetic. "Sorry."

Somehow Tommy has only just noticed, but there's a chain wrapped around Tubbo's wrist. It glows faintly, a purple aura like netherite. It reminds him of something.

"Dream, don't talk about that. Not right now," Fundy insists, his voice soft. "Kid's fragile."

"I am not fragile."

Dream adds, "It's okay."

He sighs, and thumbs the metal links. "We never even got his body."

"I know. But you have the compass."

Tubbo tugs on the chain. "Doesn't work anymore."

"Is that a chain around the kid's neck?" Quackity interrupts. He reaches out, and Tommy pulls back.

Quackity raises an amused eyebrow. "Lemme see it."

Dream's hand is on his shoulder again. "Don't push him."

Tommy shrugs it off. Like he said, he can fight his own battles. Dream hovers, then drops his hand to his side.

"Is he keeping something around his neck?" Tubbo asks. It's less of a question than an accusation. "It looks enchanted."

Tommy hisses under his breath, and instinctively cutches his chest. He can still feel the cold metal under the scraggy fabric of his hoodie, and he digs his fingernails into it.

Quackity leans in, and he hisses again. He's ripped out the throat of a zombie before, he can do it again.

"Don't you fucking touch that," he spits, barely audible. Quackity stops for a second.

"Oh, he can talk," he says.

 _No shit, bitch_.

Fundy looks between the three of them, dark eyes narrow. "What's that around your neck, kid?"

"He isn't a kid," Dream states. "And it's none of your business."

Tommy adjusts his mask. Maybe he'll need to use his mouth after all.

"It looks like Tubbo's compass," Fundy says, ignoring him. "Is that netherite?"

"Yeah!" Quackity says suddenly. He looks to Tommy, grinning. "C'mon, show us–"

He reaches forward, and Tommy does the only thing he can think of in the moment.

He didn't think his canines were sharp enough to draw blood, yet apparently he was mistaken.

"OWW!" Quackity screams, and he stumbles back into Tubbo. "Motherfucker just bit me!"

"What the shit?!" Fundy says, and he pulls Quackity aside to check his arm. "Holy..."

"I'm bleeding, what the– what the fuck have you been feeding this kid, Dream?!"

"Stay the FUCK away from that," Tommy snarls. He licks the metallic tang off his teeth and spits it.

Silence floods the room. Tommy is used to it. Four different pairs of eyes are on him, yet he somehow doesn't feel like curling up and dissolving right then and there.

His throat feels like it's burning. That's what happens when he's quiet for too long, he supposes. There's a sort of acidity to his voice that he's never noticed, or maybe it was never even there. He likes it.

"I... no," Tubbo whispers, aghast. "Surely not, surely not."

He steps closer– no, not steps. He's walking like he's approaching a wild animal, one with blood on its fangs and scars on its face and hunger in its grin. His feet are barely moving, and Tommy makes no effort to stop it.

Tubbo reaches out experimentally. Tommy doesn't move. He prods at the chain, and when he doesn't get a reaction, he pulls it out slowly. 

Tubbo could strike him at any moment, and they both know it. Tommy doesn't have a weapon. Tubbo has two warriors on his side. Tommy would never hurt him. Tubbo is willing to make that sacrifice.

He pulls out the chain, and dangles the compass in front of Tommy's face. His eyes scan over the inscription on the bottom, and widen.

"L'manberg," he reads out loud. Quackity and Fundy share a glance. Dream doesn't move nor speak. "Your Tubbo." The arrow is pointing straight towards him, just like Wilbur said it would.

"Surely not," Tubbo repeats again. His fingers brush against Tommy's mask, and while he flinches, he doesn't stop it. He reaches for the bottom and pulls it over his nest of blonde curls.

"...Tommy?"

He rolls his eyes and groans. "Hi, Tubbo."

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: HI IT'S LITERALLY FUCKING MARCH AS I'M WRITING THIS BUT I JUST REMEMBERED AND I'M SO DISAPPOINTED IN MYSELF
> 
> THIS FIC WAS INSPIRED BY THIS ANIMATIC GO CHECK IT OUT PLS: https://youtu.be/HMOB8mf6doo


End file.
